


Penny For Your Thoughts

by Kitt_Monroe



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dangan Ronpa & Super Dangan Ronpa 2 Spoilers, F/F, F/M, Gen, Kissing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers For The Entire Game, Super Dangan Ronpa 2 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitt_Monroe/pseuds/Kitt_Monroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some last thoughts are meaningful. Some last thoughts are gibberish. But all of them have to make sense, somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least you accomplished what you set out to do.

You leap onto the floor. Or maybe the more accurate (and admittedly funny) word would be lunge. You lunge onto the floor and under the table.

"Oy, what are you doing??" you demand, and you see Komaeda flinch back in startled terror, probably because he didn't expect anyone under the table with him.

For God's sake, you think to yourself. Leave it to Dr. Whitehair Hopelove to be the guy who screws everyone over. For right now, you're not prepared to spend a lot of time thinking about why Komaeda would want to do something like this, or how he even timed everything so perfectly, because you're becoming very aware of two things in this moment and they both require so much more of your attention:

The first is that Komaeda is (or _was_ until you spoke) reaching for a knife, which is taped to the underside of the table. He probably can't see you right now because the only illumination he has is some glow-in-the-dark paint he tossed on said knife to help him find it under the table. The Super High-school Level Good Luck must have some kind of plot going on revolving around that knife, and if the world makes as much sense now as it usually does you can probably assume that plot is going to end up with someone dead. So, Komaeda is trying to kill someone and he's trying to grab this glow-in-the-dark knife to do it, and _that_ in and of itself would be bad enough but for the second thing that requires your attention:

The two of you aren't alone under the table. You just happened to glance down when you got under the table, and there is a person standing under the floor, brandishing what looks suspiciously and infuriatingly like a meat skewer. The person, whom you can't identify because they've got a sheet over their whole body, is standing with the skewer poised and ready to strike. You realize in a quick one-two-three process that they're waiting for Komaeda. Their plan must be, when the glow-in-the-dark paint moves, to thrust upward and kill the person who takes the knife. This means that there's some immediately good news--Komaeda _won't_ be killing anyone with the knife--and some immediately bad news--it'll be because Komaeda is dead.

You made a promise to everyone else on this island when you first appointed yourself leader of the group, and that promise was not to allow anyone to die on your watch. You made that vow then, and you're not prepared to renege on it now, not tonight.

You quickly calculate that the person under the table is one of four people: Kuzuryuu, who refused to attend the party; Hanamura, who's supposed to be in the kitchen; Pekoyama, who's supposed to be in the office; or Nanami, who's supposed to be outside. Upon closer inspection (which, you recognize, you can't be spending a lot of time on right now because Komaeda appears to be recovering from his startled state and is reaching for the knife again), you see a portable stove in the person's other hand, presumably for a light source, so it's probably Hanamura.

Realization hits you like a firetruck--the Super High-school Level Cook was lying out his ass when he told you he didn't know where the last skewer was. He had it with him, somehow, the entire time and lied straight to your face about it. You don't think you've ever wanted to strangle a person more.

But there's no time for that right now; you have to remove Komaeda from the vicinity. He still doesn't seem to quite understand that somebody is right in front of him, since you haven't made any sound since demanding to know what he's doing. He's still reaching for the knife and you have to act quick.

"Stop it!" you bark as if that's going to change much. He winces again, and blinks a couple times, as if trying to make out your frame even in pitch darkness.

He shakes his head violently--why, because he thinks he's hearing things? That would be a stupid conclusion--but as his hand just barely starts to curl around the hilt of the knife, you reach forward and give him a rough shove. Not rough enough to break anything, but sufficiently powerful to put at least a little distance between him and the knife. "Ow!" he complains, reeling back a little until he's no longer actually under the table.

You're not sure if he's going to try to get back under and--what, fight you for the knife?--so you need to remove the danger as soon as possible.

You realize you're making a monumentally stupid move in the very instant that you make it, yet you have no time at all to react to what you're doing. You've barely even time to realize it's a bad idea.

In your haste to keep Komaeda from taking the knife, the only goal that passes through your mind is taking the knife for yourself, so you can stock it in your duralumin case. You completely forget about the person downstairs with the meat skewer until you've already got your hand on the knife handle; after all, you reach pretty quickly and don't think a lot about it, so even if you _did_ remember the person downstairs it would take too long to connect the dots.

But then your hand _is_ on the knife handle, and you _do_ remember.

You may as well admit, there aren't a lot of things you pride yourself highly on. Which isn't the same as saying there aren't a lot of things Byakuya Togami prides himself on, but that's not the issue here. One of the things you _do_ take pride in, however, is that if you make a promise, you see it through. You didn't mean for this next thing to happen, but at least you'll be able to say you protected everyone when you promised to. Because, as you quickly realize once you've got the knife, the person downstairs with the meat skewer has just seen the glow-in-the-dark paint move and is likely about to go wild with the skewer, and you have mere milliseconds to think about what is actually going on right now.

You briefly consider moving out of the way but there's no way you would be able to move fast enough. Besides, you still have that promise to keep, and you're content with the fact that once the meat skewer person (you may as well call them Hanamura) sees that they've bloodied the meat skewer, they're going to assume they've killed Komaeda and they'll stop trying.

Which means you _will_ have protected everyone else, even at the cost of your own life. After all, you're Super High-school Level Heir Byakuya Togami; you have a sworn duty as the most influential person of your generation to risk your life for the people below you. You have to say, you didn't really ever _expect_ to have to sacrifice yourself, but you're not especially bothered that you have to do so.

You think about all that stuff in the couple milliseconds before you feel a piercing agony in your gut. You immediately collapse, lying down on your stomach, and quickly lose the ability to feel the pain anymore.

You think to yourself that the others better be pretty damn thankful that you've done this. Your consciousness starts to slip away, but you feel okay with everything that happened here, because you accomplished what you set out to do.

 _Guide you all,_ you think to yourself; yes, you definitely accomplished that to an extent. After all, that's your destiny. Well no, not _your_ destiny--

_Togami's destiny_


	2. Mommm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This bear's just full of irony.

To be perfectly honest, you're a little embarrassed.

For a chef with your level of sophistication, your level of urban know-how--for your grand final statement to the world to be "MOOOOOOOOMMYYYYYYYY!!" is a bit of a let down. To you, at least. You're not really positive if anyone else is particularly "let down" or even vaguely disappointed by what's happening. You know at least a few of them are perfectly unaffected (maybe in the cases of Saionji and Kuzuryuu, actively _glad_ ) to see you die.

Die. The word echoes in your head as your mind tries to reel away from the realization of what's about to happen to you, and fails. You know _exactly_ what's about to happen, the only thing you don't know is how. You wonder, as Monobear smacks that cheesy little red button with that dumbass little mallet, what the evil bear has in store for you. How are you going to go, you wonder. Firing squad? It's certainly archaic, but Monobear doesn't seem like one to ever do things the way you expect. Guillotine? That would probably be horrifying for the others to watch, but as far as executions go it's a pretty painless one.

Which, you realize, means Monobear's going to shy away from it; that bear would never give someone a _painless_ execution, so you'll probably be drawn and quartered or some horrid shit like that.

You're too steeped in your reverie to be prepared when a big shackle closes and locks itself around your neck. Now, you'll admit as quickly as anybody else that you have a larger-than-average neck; that means this shackle is larger than most shackles would be if shackles were regularly made to close around people's necks.

That tells you two things: one, that the word shackle gets really weird really fast when you say it a bunch of times; and two, that Monobear prepared this specifically for your neck--he prepared this shackle specifically for you. You wonder if that bear fixed up this execution as soon as he knew you had murdered Togami, which would be...really creepy, to say the least.

But you don't have a lot of time to ponder that, because soon you are flying through the air at top speed for no reason you can adequately define and your train of thought sounds something like " _HOLY SHIT WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME WHAT IS GOING ON WHAT._ "

Once you regain your bearings, and the fact that you are flying through the air becomes old news, you have a short period of time in which to reflect on what is going on right now. A couple seconds into that period of time is approximately the moment that you begin to consider that maybe, just _maybe,_ none of this has been seriously worth it.

You weren't lying before--it's been several minutes now since you lied straight to all their faces, which you guess is something to be proud of--when you said you didn't mean to kill Togami. The emphasis in the sentence being on _Togami,_ because of course you did mean to _kill._ It's kind of a point of indignity for you, indignity and regret, that for all the accusations that were just piled against you, for all the tension you'd been experiencing from the moment you went wild with that meat skewer to the moment Hinata started going all Sherlock Fuckin Holmes on you, that asshole Komaeda is _still_ alive. He's probably getting off on this, too. That giggly delirious bastard's jimmies are probably _so_ rustled right now, seeing you being carted through the air to your death.

And why shouldn't they be? You _did_ try to kill him. If the situation were reversed, and he'd tried and failed to murder you, you'd probably take a searing, revolting pleasure in watching him executed too.

The difference is he wouldn't have a reason for killing you.

But the point is, you can't help thinking--and you know this is a disgusting, arguably subhuman thing to think--that if you really _had_ to be executed for committing a murder, if you really _had_ to go down in flames after composing what anyone has to admit was an outrageously clever murder plot, you really really wish you could at least have killed the right god damn dude. If you have to die, here and now, for what you did, you wish you could at least have the satisfaction of knowing Komaeda is off the face of the earth.

But alas, some things just don't go the way you planned. Sometimes you sit down to watch a favorite TV show only to find it's not on that week; sometimes you make what's supposed to be a fantastic meal and it turns out you screwed it over royally; and sometimes you accidentally kill a large self-absorbed heir to a financial conglomerate instead of a bony white-haired douchebag with an on-again-off-again relationship with the abstract concept of hope.

Okay, you admit, not everyone can relate to all of those things--after all, you're certainly aware that not all people watch TV.

It's not as though you're even a little satisfied that you got to kill someone anyway. You have no reason to want Togami dead; Togami wasn't the really the kind of person people want to kill. Despite what Monobear might say, the fact that you committed a murder doesn't make you feel any better about Mom back at home, and it certainly doesn't quench the thirst that sprung up in your gut the minute you saw Komaeda screwing around with the knife and the glow-in-the-dark paint.

That terrifying thirst, a _lust_ more accurately, to be responsible for the death of another human being. You didn't know you had that in you, but you learn something new every day, right?

A sharp jerk and your head bonking against a wooden post inform you of the fact that you are now stationary. You are upright, but your feet don't touch the ground; instead, two more shackles have sprung to life to confine you to said wooden post, and struggle as you may you can't even move your arms. Then, a shadow passes over you, and you look up to see probably the last thing you expected to see in this situation: a helicopter.

It should be noted, also, that without any knowledge of how you ended up here, you are now back on the beach of the island, where that classroom was when you and the other fifteen woke up there a few days ago. You're enormously confused as to how or why you would have been dragged _here_ of all places. But back to the helicopter.

There's not much to say about it. It's a helicopter. You know. Big choppers on top. Little choppers on the tail. Looks kind of like an airborne dolphin.

Oh, and Monobear's inside it.

It's a little difficult to tell at first since the aircraft is so far away, but you can just make out Monobear's grisly (ha ha ha hA HA) shape in the cockpit. The bear presses a button on one of the joysticks, and the helicopter spawns, as if from oblivion, six gargantuan military-grade missiles.

Oh, awesome. He's going to _nuke_ you. You figure that's probably some kind of joke on the fact that you're a Super High-school Level Chef. After all, a bunch of explosive missiles, concurrent with obliterating you to smithereens, are certainly going to cook your body, right? And, even funnier (sarcasm), the fact that people call microwaving something "nuking" it means he's like microwaving you or something, which of course you, the greatest chef in the world (and don't let anybody tell you otherwise), would _never_ do to any decent meal.

This bear's just full of irony. Go team.

The missiles eject from the helicopter and prove to be heat-seeking. You sit there (what choice do you have?) and try not to fidget as you semi-patiently wait for death.

You don't stop wondering about Mom, about the restaurant. Are they in any way okay, you wonder? If what Monobear told all of you is true, then it's been years since she last saw you. What was she thinking those first couple of days? What did she think when her boy didn't come home from school? You know Hope's Peak isn't a dormitory-based academy, so you _were_ supposed to come home at the end of the school day.

Or...is it that you _did_ come home, you just don't remember it? Did all sixteen of you have a perfectly normal school life, but the memories of that school life is all you don't have anymore? If that were the case, then Mom would never have had to worry, because everything about your school life was normal right up until you came to this island.

You kind of like that idea better; you would hate to think Mom and the restaurant wasted away without you for years.

When the first missile makes direct contact with your shirt, you brace for an explosion. You don't get an explosion. The shell casing disintegrates, yes; and it's painful as hell, yes; but you can physically feel yourself not being dead when it's over. The same goes for the other five missiles: they definitely pack a punch, and you wouldn't be surprised if a few of your ribs are in the process of being broken, but nothing lethal is happening to you and you're seriously starting to wonder why.

Then a mortifying thought occurs to you. You're now drenched. There's no reason a missile strike should leave you soaking wet, unless...

The smell of fresh vegetable oil confirms your suspicions. Monobear's not nuking you--he's about to _fry_ you. Like when you fry chicken or potatoes, except he's doing it to _you._ Your life begins to flash before your eyes as you ask a few different gods what you did to deserve something like this.

Oh yeah, you killed a guy. Whoops.

Monobear readies one more missile, this one even more ginormous than the other six, and you don't even have to guess what's inside. It takes a more direct route toward you and reaches you in--conservative estimate--three seconds. This one does actually come with a bit of a blast, but the explosion misses you entirely, leaving you unburned and covered in more bread crumbs than any person should ever be.

You want more than anything just to have a few more minutes, just one more short little while when you could somehow (you don't know _how_ this would ever happen, but that's the thing about being about to die is that you think about things that don't make sense) talk to Mom again, one last time. Just to ask her what happened to the restaurant, just to make sure everything turned out okay. But you know there's no way that'll ever happen, not when you can see the helicopter advancing on you and sprouting a chain with which for to pick you up with. With.

You're afforded the special indignity of being lifted upside-down, because why would Monobear let you keep your pride? The blood all rushes to your head, and you already feel dizzy.

When a person doesn't want to be caught for a murder, they pretend to be surprised to see the dead body of the person they killed. That much is obvious. But what about when you're _genuinely_ surprised to see it, even though you're the murderer? That's something a lot of people don't think about, but it's something that's been eating at you from the instant you walked back into that big dining hall and saw _him._ Komaeda, that is. That loathsome pale face, still grinning like a well-meaning dope (this was before everyone else discovered him for the monster he is, of course), assuring everyone that nobody could possibly have killed Togami, it was just some kind of freak accident or else it was Monobear's fault.

The thought pervades your mind again as you pass over the ocean, just feet above the water. _It should have been him._ It cycles through your mind again and again, as if Komaeda might somehow hear you telepathically if you repeat it enough.

The helicopter is escalating now, and you do your best to look upward to see where it's taking you. You want to say something clever like "Oh hell no," but if you do that your mouth will flood with oil and bread crumbs.

It's a volcano. Monobear's about to drop your oiled-and-crumbed (like tarred-and-feathered but not) ass into a volcano. You rationalize that at least it _is_ a swift death; maybe a quick flash of hot agony but then it'll be over.

After stationing the helicopter over the mouth of the monster, Monobear lets you hang there for a bit, you guess to up the suspense. Well, you could sure use the time.

You're still worried about Mom. How long, exactly, after you were kidnapped from school were you dropped off here? No matter how long that was, it's certainly been days now that you've all been on the island--Mom must be worried sick. Did she call the police yet? Probably all your families have by now (except maybe Owari's because you doubt she even has a telephone). So where does that leave Mom? Just sitting by the phone waiting for a phone call she'll never get? Or, if she does get a call, it'll be because someone finally managed to rescue whoever's still surviving, and whoever's surviving will have explained to them that you were flash-fried in a volcano.

You don't even know how Mom would react to that.

Something even worse occurs to you now. What if Mom's already...like, passed or something? It could have happened during your school life that you apparently had. You wouldn't remember it all--the last memory you have of her _now_ is waving goodbye to her on your first day of school, but what if she passed on while you were going to high school? And like you had a funeral or something and skipped several days of school and everybody felt sorry for you?

You have no way of knowing...

You don't think you've ever been so displeased to feel a metal shackle _stop_ clutching at your feet. You come to the conscious realization that you are now officially fucked, and you're falling and falling and falling and falling--

 _Tell me Mom,_ you think. _Mommm. What happened to Hanamura Restauran_


	3. Say Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're almost amused as you think to yourself that you are in so deep right now.

You really feel like you might never have been _this angry_ in your entire life.

It's funny, 'cause they always say redheads are the most excitable and feisty, and you guess you're not exactly a shining example of that _not_ being true. After all, you've been called excitable before, and feisty too. Also hypercritical, passionate, stern, spirited, and even bitter sometimes.

You admit, you have a tendency to get into it with people who piss you off. You're quick to judge sometimes, and when somebody doesn't live up to your expectations or standards you're never quiet about it. That's not really something you do maliciously, you promise; you just know that people around you are capable of great things, and it disappoints you when they don't try their best at stuff. Honestly, you're just trying to encourage them to access their full potential.

Even Souda, whom you sometimes doubt has any potential at all.

But the one thing that you can certifiably say you _never_ are is angry. You don't get angry, you get defensive. You don't get angry, you get overly zealous about your stance on something. And those aren't just generic platitudes, either; you can truthfully say you never experience full-blown, honest-to-God ire.

But you do now.

An all-of-five-foot-one tyrannical quasi-human unmitigated ball of wrath stands in front of you, glaring up at you with those fiery eyes as if he has any worldly right to be on the offense here, as if he even deserves to talk to you after what he did, after what he's _doing._

You're in lecture mode, and he's in stop-trying-to-take-me-to-task-for-my-actions mode because that's the only mode he's _ever_ in. That piece of shit, he doesn't even know what he's doing. He's just standing there with clenched fists and a snarl like he's so cool. He's a child. If he's got a brain it's the brain of a baby and it matches his face.

You demand to know what he did and why did he do it and didn't he care about compassion and didn't he know that just _thinking_ about Satou, even though you didn't actually remember her, gave you a weird chill that you couldn't define but that you had a sneaking and terrible suspicion was romantic attraction. Of course you don't actually ask that last question but it's on the tip of your tongue the entire time you're lecturing him and you feel like he should be better at reading minds so he'd know you're thinking it.

Kuzuryuu reminds you icily of the fact that Satou murdered his sister, and you're like no shit really? You didn't even know.

You're being sarcastic.

You're really angry that he interrupted you. You went into this expecting not to be interrupted, because you _know_ he's wrong here and you kind of thought he would see that too. And yet here he is, defending himself like he thinks _you_ did something wrong.

Seriously? Let's just tally this up real quick: _Kuzuryuu_ murdered a girl you're pretty sure you were into (like, _into_ into probably?) when you were going to school with her, _you_ helped her cover up murdering Kuzuryuu's sister. Not that either of you remembers doing those things, but seriously? He thinks you're more in the wrong here?

You want to vomit and you want to punch him at the same time, but there are numerous problems with you doing either of those things. First of all, if you vomit, it'll get all over your clothes and probably his too which won't make your afternoon any more zippy. And punching him isn't going to solve anything because a) you don't hit people and b) you _certainly_ don't hit people four inches shorter than you.

You can literally feel yourself being an ass right now, spouting a bunch of self-righteous shit about violence and revenge and you almost cringe at how obnoxious you sound, except you're not sorry at all because he deserves it. He _deserves_ to feel like shit right now because he's trash to you right now.

But it's different now, and you can feel that too. You may be in lecture mode--a lot of people say that's what's called "hypercritical," which, again, you get called a lot--but you're experiencing emotions you never usually have when going on rants about things people have done. You're feeling a white, hot, blistering rage toward Kuzuryuu right now, and for the first time in your life you are coming to know what it means to hate another person.

And he just stands there and keeps being Kuzuryuu, which for you right now is all the qualification he needs for you to hate him. It's not like you've _enjoyed_ his company since you arrived on the island, but what the two of you now know about each other is something else entirely. How, you wonder, could one person be so vile? You continue to be shocked, knowing that you are currently in a confrontation with a _murderer_ and that doesn't even make you flinch.

You're almost amused as you think to yourself that you are in so deep right now. Like you are going hard as hell at this point and you don't see it stopping. You noticed a while ago that your vocabulary has leaped to new levels and your articulation has improved massively and you're pretty sure you're spitting in his face every several seconds at this point because you are just _so out of it right now good God what are you doing._

What are you even trying to accomplish here, you can't help asking yourself. What do you want him to say right now that'll make you feel less thoroughly disgusted? Truthfully, you're not sure anything he can say (read: would be willing to say) will calm you down at this point. It's like all the anger you might ever have experienced in your life is being let loose right now, and this whole Satou thing is just your excuse to unleash a foul anger beast thing (you're very impressed with your Buffy speak concerning that phrase) on a human embodiment of awful attitude.

It would explain how you're this furious over something that neither of you even remember happening. But it doesn't mean he should be any less regretful for what he did, and it doesn't make you any less floored by the fact that he's trying to make himself the victim here.

He. Is not. The victim. You just need to make that perfectly clear. You know who's the victim? Yeah no that's Satou. You know why because she's _dead._

He tries to excuse himself from his guilt again, tries to worm his way out of being blamed. He tells you he's not interested in talking about what _he_ did, and all he wants to know is do you _remember_ the events of this whole incident. He phrases it "the stuff that happened in that video game," maybe because that's how he can make it less real. That's how he can avoid being guilty, but the persisting fire in his eyes tells you he's long since acknowledged that it's all real.

But for him, "it's all real" doesn't mean "yes, I killed Satou and I'm a horrible person because of that." No, for Kuzuryuu, "it's all real" means "yes, my sister is dead and feel sorry for me because of that." He asks you if you remember because he wants you to know that his sister's more important, that Satou was worthless and a murderer and didn't dress very well either or something to that effect.

You're aware that his sister is dead. It's right there in the photograph. The photograph, you realized a while ago, that _you_ took. To you, it just underscores how impossible it is to consider any of what happened here in a real context that you, a Super High-school Level Photographer, can't even remember taking that photo. It just makes it so surreal, and the fact that it's so surreal makes you want so much to just let it go.

But you can't let it go. Not yet, because he hasn't paid for what he did. He hasn't even _apologized._ You could really use an apology if nothing else here, some kind of acknowledgment that what he did was wrong and he knows it. But he doesn't even seem willing to admit that what he did was out of the ordinary, let alone wrong.

This kid frustrates you so badly. You _know_ he can't be a bad person; nobody is. And sure, a lot of people will tell you that yes, there are bad people in the world promptly before giving you stock examples of all the world's bad dictators and you kind of just laugh to yourself at that because what's that supposed to prove?

You know what that proves? Those people were bad _policy-makers._ Not bad people. You would bet a good deal of money that if you were to actually hang around those people and talk casually with them, they were all probably good in their own ways.

And it's the same with Kuzuryuu: you know there's got to be something about him that makes him a good guy, somewhere in this tangled mess of Napoleon-complex-meets-childish-crime-boss-meets-overly-protective-brother-figure. But you struggle, oh good God do you struggle, to find what that thing is. As soon as you can see it, despite it all, despite what he did to Satou--what he did to _you_ \--you want to find it in your heart to forgive him. But he's so outrageous about everything and so unwilling to take criticism that you start to wonder if he even deserves for you to try to encourage him like this, the way you do for everyone. You're trying, you're physically trying, to push him to meet his potential. But it's getting so hard, and you're feeling so emotionally exhausted right now, and you're starting to accept that okay, fine, there was stuff you did that has consequences too.

"What happened to your sister was tragic, sure," you admit, truthfully, "but..." After a deep breath, you continue: "You didn't have to kill too!"

He's still on about wanting to know if you _remember_ what happened. Well, of course you don't remember, that's why the two of you are  _discussing_ it.

"You didn't have the right!" you inform him; you're still sick of being interrupted. "Judging people's sins like that... no one has the right to do that!"

You stop for a moment to see if any of that is sinking in, and you observe that he looks less fiery now and more generally miserable. Is he softening because you acknowledged the sister thing...? Maybe that means he's ready to come around? Maybe you should've gone with this path sooner; after all, it's a popular technique of diplomats to accept that the other party has burdens, too.

But you have to remind him of your point before you can get too easy on him. Bring it back around to your main topic, that's how you cinch the argument. "Revenge... is just wrong!!" you declare, and although you're still seething inside, frazzled like nothing you've ever felt, frothing with hate, you incorporate as little of that hate as you can into your statement. You want to let him know that what he did was awful, but you don't want to beat him over the head with it now, not when he seems ready to step down.

He opens his mouth to speak--maybe, just maybe, to agree with you?--but before he can say a word his eyes suddenly go wide with horror, anguish, terror, anything you can name (remember, your vocabulary is excellent right now).

An instant, and by that you mean a literal _instant of time,_ feels like it's happening in slow motion. You want to ask what's wrong, why he suddenly looks so mortified, why his face just distorted into a look of "no this can't be happening." You want to ask him that, and you want to tell him that whatever he's feeling right now he should tell you.

That's how you can bring him around to your side, help him see that he _needs_ to improve as a person but that he's not completely irredeemable. Maybe that was always his problem, was that he thought because he'd already done so much terrible stuff as a Super High-school Level Gangster that he couldn't be salvaged. You know, if he can just listen to you for a minute, that you can convince him that nobody is ever too far gone that they can't be brought back.

Once you get him to listen, and the two of you probably have some kind of deep, emotional conversation about your insecurities or something and how the incident with Satou and his sister affected you both, then you wonder if Kuzuryuu won't maybe even start to get better. He certainly has the capacity, you realize that. He can start by actually agreeing to attend stuff with the rest of you, and hopefully sooner rather than later he'll be--not necessarily nothing like his old self, but maybe just an improved version of that person.

Having Kuzuryuu around would mean, for instance, that everybody would be present for one of your photographs for once. It's been a point of serious irritation for you so far that not once have you been able to get everybody together for a picture, and you'd really like to take a "class photo" of sorts, so you'll always have a souvenir of the time you guys have all spent together even after you all find a way off this island.

You think about all of that stuff in a single instant, but it's only an instant.

A splitting, greuling, blinding, and a lot of other "-ing"s pain shoots through your entire being, and you can barely register that you even still exist before your body becomes too heavy to continue to stand and you hit the floor.

You don't experience the shift between thinking about taking a class photo and thinking about the ungodly agony that's already dragging you under the surface of consciousness quickly enough--you're still thinking about what cheesy photographer things you would say to the others before taking that photo and only just beginning to discover that you're currently dying.

 _I've atoned,_ says one part of your brain as you feel yourself losing any sense of what the world around you is supposed to be.

Another part of your brain is still on taking a class photo (because everything is happening that fast).

_Say cheese! Everyone smile_


	4. Kira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It really should occur to you that something very wrong is going on.

You never really made any demands of Kuzuryuu, not once in your whole life--after all, why would you? He's the one who makes demands of _you._ That's how it works, a master tells his servant what to do. (That is to say, a master uses the tools at his disposal, but apparently you're not supposed to be thinking like that because Kuzuryuu just said so, and now you're really confused.)

So yeah, anyway, you never really made any demands of him, but you're nearing the end of your largely unsuccessful existence so you may as well go out with a bang, as they say. If you would be permitted to make just one request of Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu in this moment, it would be that he would quit talking already. Just stop talking, because as he is talking he is killing you even more than you suspect you're about to be killed anyway.

What does he _mean,_ he never wanted somebody to use? Isn't that what you were always supposed to be? What is he _talking about,_ that he wanted you as a friend? You kind of want to shut out the things he's saying because--and this might seem ridiculous to anyone not in your position, but it means a lot to you--you don't think you ever once considered anything of the things he's saying. That you might be his friend? That was something you never even dared dream about, because after all what's a tool going to bring to a friendship, especially a friendship with someone as magnificent as him?

You really wish he would stop talking. But he keeps on telling you what you mean to him, and for God's sake if he was ever going to do this why couldn't he have done it earlier? For example, when you were pretending to be completely insane and wearing that really creepy serial killer mask? That might have been a good moment for him to intervene.

You know, something like, "Hey Peko, you can stop pretending and tell them the truth," and _then_ that would have been a perfectly reasonable time for him to be breaking down like a small child and blubbering--yes, he's blubbering right now, which frankly you've never seen him do and you're somewhat worried he'll die if he doesn't get angry at somebody soon--about how he wants you as a friend and not a tool and you're _still_ not sure how to deal with that information.

He's asking you not to "go" yet. By "go" does he mean "be executed in a brutally ironic fashion?" He does realize that's something you can't control?

Your mind is a million places at once, and as well as being shocked beyond your capability and confused as all hell, you're terrified. You'll admit it, you're horribly frightened about what's about to happen to you once Monobear finishes doing his creepy "it's punishment time" monologue, the same one he did before executing Hanamura. And that's the precise reason _why_ you're terrified, because you've seen this before. At the first trial, all of you were expecting some kind of _normal_ execution--you know, electric chair? Lethal injection?--but no, Hanamura had the unique honor of being oiled, crumbed, and dropped in a volcano.

It was apparently fitting. Because Hanamura was a Super High-school Level Cook. It's funny, right?

So what, you can't help wondering, is Monobear going to do to you? You're a Super High-school Level Swordswoman, and there's so many different things he could do with that and you think you're literally blanching as you think of all the endless possibilities.

But you're _also_ blanching at what Kuzuryuu is saying now. He's still telling you not to go yet, but he's tacked on an extra request at the end (you almost sigh in relief at that, because _yes,_ he's supposed to make requests of _you,_ that's the way it's supposed to be).

He says, "Don't go yet!" and he's sobbing like a baby and you don't know how to handle that because you'd never actually seen another human being crying before until about ten minutes ago when Saionji got all pissy because you were trying to frame her for Koizumi's murder.

God, some people are _so_ sensitive.

And then, after "Don't go yet," he adds, "Don't leave me here alone!" and that's pretty much when it's over for you. You feel yourself involuntary begin to cry, which shocks and mortifies you because that's _definitely_ never happened. Crying feels weird, you think to yourself. It's wet and uncomfortable and you really hope you can compose yourself before Monobear sends you off to your death so you can like die with dignity or something. How vain of you.

But anyway, Monobear's finished with his irritating punishment speech, but you know you need to respond somehow. Still, you have no idea what you would even say to that because you feel like you won't even be able to talk if you try, and Kuzuryuu's just staring hopelessly at you with those sorry eyes of his, and you wonder if he never broke down like this when his sister died.

If he did, of course he doesn't remember it. Neither do you, and neither do Saionji or Mioda or Tsumiki. And neither did Koizumi, you remind yourself with a shudder. But it doesn't matter if any of you remember anything, because the fact of the matter is it _happened._

You want to think about it that way, because that way you can rationalize what you did. Whether she remembered it or not, Koizumi was a _villain._ She helped cover up the murder of someone very close to your young master, and that makes her evil, and that makes what you did okay.

Which is really nice to be able to think when you know deep down that what you did is the furthest thing from excusable.

You can't help wondering now, what Kuzuryuu must think of you. Surely he must be disappointed, possibly a little betrayed. But you guess he can't think that lowly of you right now because he's begging you not to die, begging you to stay with him somehow, and you feel a chilling horror settle in your heart as you realize that this is one request you won't be able to fulfill for him.

So you just cry, and you mumble the words "young master," as if that's going to change anything. What's really awful, you notice, is that of all the things you could tell him right now, "young master" is probably the most distasteful to him because apparently he's not into that. He doesn't _like_ being "young master," if what he's telling you now is to be believed. But there's nothing you can do to fix it; it just comes naturally to you to call him that.

And you could expend the effort to remember to call him something different, you really could. Something like "Kuzuryuu" the way you've been doing the entire several days you've all been on this island. Or something like "Fuyuhiko," which would be a good way to confirm to him that you appreciate his wanting to be your friend and reciprocate that feeling.

You could put forth that effort, sure, but making an effort to do anything seems so pointless now--after all, haven't you done enough already? Have you not demonstrated to everybody in this courtroom what happens when Peko Pekoyama makes an effort to accomplish something?

You say again, "Young master!!" And this time, you try to pack as much emotion as you can summon into it, in some futile attempt to let him know that this time it's different. You want to make it clear, this isn't like all the other times when you called him exactly that without any sort of affectation to your tone, without any acknowledgment that you cared all that much about addressing him--even when you did care, even when you cared more than words can say.

But you don't know if you make your point at all because you never really got the hang of gauging your own emotional responses to things. You have the eye of a hawk when it comes to discerning Kuzuryuu's feelings, but you could never tell with yourself.

You don't know if you momentarily black out, or whether Monobear works some kind of sorcery to make you forget being transported, but without warning you suddenly find yourself standing on a stretch of sunbaked land. You look around briefly and discover it's a plateau jutting out of the sea. How you got outside without remembering how you were taken there is as much your guess as anyone else's, but before you can think too deeply about it, you are confronted by what apparently will be the means of your execution: hundreds of faceless creatures dressed as stereotypical samurai warriors, all carrying katanas. They materialize out of thin air and immediately surround you, looking expressly threatening.

Sure, you figure. You're a swordswoman, so samurai warriors would make sense as your death sentence. Plus, you feel insulted at the obviously niche style of their "samurai" appearance; the cliché-ness of their dress, swords, etc. are a little trivializing of your profession. You don't know if Monobear planned that just to salt the wound, but it would make sense.

The only problem is, you can smoke these guys in seconds, even with the wooden practice sword you've currently got strapped to your back. You're not sure why Monobear would think you couldn't take these things on without breaking a sweat--and that worries you. Does he have something else up his sleeve?

Monobear answers your question instantly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the bear sitting on the very edge of the plateau, and he picks up a straw doll with a photograph of your face on the head. It has a wooden cross attached to it by strings, and you immediately recognize what the doll is supposed to be: a Pekoyama puppet.

Monobear takes the wooden cross and dangles the doll from it, and as soon as he does that, you feel your entire body seize up with a stinging feeling in all your muscles.

Your first, instinctive thought is this is not fair. Hanamura didn't suffer before he died; he just got doused in cooking oil and bread crumbs. _This_ is suffering, because you quickly realize you can no longer move your own body. Monobear plays with one of the strings, and without you putting any effort into it, your arm rises of its own accord, brandishing your own katana. (Which is weirdly made of steel now, even though you _know_ it's supposed to be wood.)

You realize what's happening now. Monobear is controlling you, making your body move against your will. Now isn't that cute? Here you were throughout the last quarter of the trial, on and on about how you're just Kuzuryuu's tool, an inanimate object for him to use--

And now you really _are._ You're a puppet, unable to move of your own volition. You think you would have liked literally _any_ execution better than this.

But you're not _getting_ an execution better than this. Instead, you find yourself zipping across the plateau with your sword pointing directly forward. You're not even moving your feet or legs, but thanks to Monobear, that doesn't matter. You quickly come into contact with one of the samurai warriors and slice it to pieces with no effort. Now, that normally wouldn't take you much work anyway, but with Monobear's "assistance" you literally don't have to work for it at all.

Now _that_ seems a little counterintuitive. If Monobear wants to execute you, why would he bestow competence upon you? Wouldn't he make sure you would succumb to the samurai guys' attacks? This also worries you.

The next several seconds of your life are a blur, as you speed back and forth across the dry land and make mincemeat of samurai after samurai like it's nothing. For you, it _is_ nothing; you can't feel yourself expending any energy at all, thanks to Monobear moving you around with his puppet thing. You're not even going to try to analyze _how_ that puppet actually works--really, you stopped wondering how Monobear does half the stuff he does a long time ago. So you just let yourself be dragged wherever Monobear decides, and without any physical strain on your part, you decimate a good part of the samurai guys' forces.

You really begin to wonder what the point of all this might be. Is Monobear eventually just going to make you let yourself be killed by the warriors? Or--and this is actually one of the worse thoughts you've had today, and that includes your brilliant idea to kill Koizumi and pretend to be a serial killer--is he going to make you commit suicide with your sword? You know, good old-fashioned seppuku? That's a horrifying possibility.

But nowhere near as horrifying as what happens next. From some indeterminable location a little ways behind you, you hear _his_ voice. "Peko!!" Kuzuryuu cries, and if your body didn't already feel seized up it would now.

You rack your brain for a way he could possibly have gotten here. Wasn't this supposed to be some kind of special stage for your execution? How would Kuzuryuu find his way here? "Peko, stay right there, I'm coming!" he elaborates, and if your mouth wasn't frozen shut by Monobear's puppeteering you would try to yell back at him that you _can't_ stay right here if Monobear wants you to move--

And suddenly you're terrified on a completely new level.

You quickly come to the mortifying realization, that if Kuzuryuu runs up too close to you, then with a flick of his paw, Monobear could easily make you cut him to pieces, just as he made you do to the samurai warriors. You don't think you've ever been this willing to lie down and scream; how fitting, that the only time you've ever wanted to do that is the one time you physically can't.

You want to call back to Kuzuryuu, tell him to stay back, just get away from you, jump into the water, _anything_ so you won't hurt him. Damage to your own body, even your own death, you will tolerate and accept, because that's the risk you take as Kuzuryuu's tool--or his...bodyguard, or something. Not his tool, you suppose. Because Kuzuryuu said so.

But damage to Kuzuryuu is not something you're prepared to deal with, and for _you_ to cause that damage--you shriek internally even to think about it.

But Kuzuryuu doesn't know that. He probably isn't thinking at all about what he's doing--which, if your hearing serves, is running quickly across the plateau toward you, pushing the samurai warriors out of the way in an attempt to wade through the crowd. No, he's not thinking at all, he never really does. And that's one of the things you've always admired about him, how he can rush into something without worrying too hard because he's always so _confident,_ so assured of himself, and you always wanted to be more like that.

You've always admired that about him, but right now it's making you more troubled by the second as you hope desperately that Monobear isn't going to pull something as awful as making you harm your young master. Kuzuryuu doesn't _deserve_ that, he didn't do anything wrong.

There's nothing you can do about it, and that's the worst part. You could attack Kuzuryuu at any moment now, thanks to Monobear's puppet, and you wouldn't even be able to control it. Everything you've ever believed about yourself is being used against you: the fact that you're a tool, a mechanical object for people to use; the fact that you've sworn yourself to _protect_ Kuzuryuu with your life; even the knowledge that you're the most competent swordswoman in Japan.

But more than any of those things, what makes your blood boil, what makes you seethe inside, is the fact that you're being used by someone _else._ That's not how it's supposed to be; Kuzuryuu is your only master, you _belong_ to him and that is what you have known your entire life. And now you're under Monobear's control, and you almost feel like crying again but you can't even do that.

And then suddenly you realize you can. You _can_ cry and _are,_ and a quick examination of your ability to wipe away your tears reveals to you that you can now move on your own again. You spare a quick glance toward Monobear, who has dropped the puppet and is grinning like an asshole as always, before noticing that there is a samurai warrior standing directly behind you, baring its sword. Well, you may as well destroy it, you figure, and you feel particularly overjoyed that you can actually do that by yourself instead of by Monobear's influence.

It really should occur to you that something very wrong is going on. There's no reason Monobear would just randomly, _benevolently_ let you go like that, and deep down, you probably recognize that. This is your execution, after all--what could Monobear have to gain from bequeathing unto you your free will if it wasn't going to ultimately cause your death?

And when you hear Kuzuryuu again, calling, "Peko, I'm going to save you, don't worry!" it should really _really_ occur to you that something's wrong. Because he's not calling from far away anymore. No, he's calling from very close by, as in a stride's distance away from you. But you don't see him at the moment, so you're not bothered.

So it _doesn't_ occur to you, not right now, or at least not enough to stop you from enjoying the feeling of exercising your own power to cut down the samurai guy. You're actually pretty impressed by the style of your slice--perfectly vertical, and deep enough to halve the warrior completely.

You're surprised, actually, by the utter glee you feel right now. The sheer knowledge that you don't have to worry about hurting your young master now, that you can rest easy knowing he's going to be okay, has really put a nice spin on your mood. You figure you'll find some way to take him to safety so you can focus on dealing with the rest of these samurai warriors (whose numbers, you notice proudly, are dwindling), and then Monobear will know that you're not going to go down that easily and _holy shit it's Kuzuryuu he's standing in front of you his right eye is closed and bleeding shit shit shit shit shit shit--_

He closes his left eye as well and begins to hyperventilate. You let out a screech that might easily tear through time and space themselves and rush forward to catch him as he collapses.

You begin to process what you have just done. It must be that as you attacked that samurai warrior, Kuzuryuu was standing immediately behind it and you caught him in your slice as well. You have just damaged your young master, and this isn't even like if you'd cut open his chest or sliced his arm or something.

This is his _eye,_ and that is not something that can be repaired, even if you _weren't_ almost certain you're both about to be destroyed by the remaining samurai army.

You cut his eye.

You cut his eye and you cannot stop repeating those words to yourself.

You cut his eye and it was _voluntary._ This wasn't Monobear _making_ you hurt him, you did this by yourself.

You cut his eye and you're pressing his face against your chest and trying to think of what in the world you can possibly do now. What, if anything, to somehow make this not as bad as it is.

You force yourself to think as you hear one of the samurai warriors approaching slowly, and you become more and more aware that you're pretty much dead now and so is Kuzuryuu.

Is this it? Are you going to have been responsible for the deaths of not one, but two people before you finally die?

Don't they say that once you've killed two people, you're already on the fast track to being a serial killer? How fitting. How fitting, that you should pretend to be a serial killer, and now you really _are..._

 _Kira,_ you think to yourself. That silly play on the English word "killer." That's disgusting. You're a Super High-school Level Swordswoman; you don't want to be Kirakira-chan. You're factually _not,_ after all, and as crazy as it sounds, you deserve better than being some low-class murderer.

No, you know what you are, don't you. _Tool?_ you wonder, and you wonder why you're wondering it. If that makes sense.

You shouldn't be _wondering_ whether you're Kuzuryuu's tool, because _of course_ you are. Right...? Isn't that what you really are, when push comes to shove?

The samurai warrior raises its sword, and Kuzuryuu hasn't made a sound since you pulled him close to you. Does he know you're protecting him? Can he even think straight right now, with the excruciating pain he's probably experiencing?

You're still content, even if he doesn't know, to be trying your best to keep him alive. You've already failed at your job a few times too many today, but this is your last chance to do it right.

 _Young master tool,_ you affirm, and that sentence maybe doesn't make much sense, but it's what you are. You belong to him, you're his protector, and you will give these last few seconds of your life for him if only you can believe, however naively, that it will help him at all.

He wanted you to be his friend. You know you are his tool.

You can be both.

You pull him even closer. You will cover his body when they attack. You will be a shield for the boy you ~~love~~ admire.

He's the only thing you're thinking of now, as the katana above you comes crashing down through the air.

_Young master young mas_


	5. Yaaay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She hasn't stuttered at all this entire night. You figure you shouldn't be bothered by that.

She's so beautiful.

Beautiful waves of feathery, kind-of-brown-kind-of-violet hair, cut a little choppy but in an endearing way, like you could run your fingers through it, get lost in it; beautiful fair skin, flawless and so unbearably soft-looking, like you could just reach out and caress her face; beautiful dark eyes, thoughtful and reticent, and God you could just gaze into them forever, that would probably be a religious experience...

She's just so beautiful.

So you tell her that.

"Mikan-chan, you're so beautiful!" you gush. It comes out more stiff than you hoped, but you hope she gets the message.

"'Kay, thanks," she returns, unfolding the stepladder she got from the supermarket. To be perfectly honest, you might have liked a different response, but you're not bothered. Whatever Tsumiki thinks is the right answer is obviously right; of that you're positive.

Maybe Tsumiki is just feeling a little down today. That would explain a lot of the things that have happened tonight. She's been weirdly short with you all night, especially when you ask questions. You figure maybe you shouldn't ask questions, and so you haven't really asked any since that thing with Saionji.

You cast a short glance toward the Super High-school Level Classical Dancer, with her little kimono and her funnily expressive pigtails, looking cute as always. See, you were worried that she was dead or something after Tsumiki grabbed her and--you _thought_ \--slit her throat, but Tsumiki was quick to assure you that no, the blonde is just asleep. Asleep _and_ taped to a pillar, you asked? Yes, Tsumiki snapped, asleep and taped to a pillar.

You found that funny at the time, but Tsumiki shot you a blistering glare when you pressed the subject. You didn't mean to be a nuisance, really, but looking back on it you realize you were definitely being a little impertinent. Sure Saionji is just asleep! After all, she couldn't possibly look that cute if she were dead. You smile to yourself as you muse that Saionji actually looks unusually peaceful when she sleeps. It almost makes her more cute.

So yeah. You haven't asked any questions since then. You guess that's probably for the best: it's not like _you_ know much of anything, and to tell the truth, it's really relaxing to be able to rely on what other people say. You never have to think too hard, all you have to do is what other people tell you. You wonder why you couldn't have gotten this Despair Fever sooner. It feels so lovely and soothing!

You _certainly_ haven't asked Tsumiki why she's doing all this since the first time you asked that. Tsumiki's response the _first_ time you asked, when the two of you were strolling from the hospital to the music club at what you absent-mindedly estimated was around midnight (whatever time it was, it was about an hour ago), was more than enough to discourage you from ever asking again:

"Why do you care?!" the Super High-school Level Nurse raged. "Can't I just take you out walking?? Is that a crime?"

"No, of course not, Mikan-chan!" you assured her, saluting for effect (and because it seemed like the natural thing to do). "In fact, it delights me that you would want to take me out! So, my sincerest apologies for questioning you, sir!"

You _still_ feel bad for that. Here she was, being all sweet and taking you to your favorite building on the whole island, and you had to go and ask why she was doing it. You didn't think about it then, but it was actually kind of rude--insubordinate, even--of you to question her. You won't do that again.

Again, that was about an hour ago. Since then, you've arrived at the music club, watched as Tsumiki raised the thermostat to like thirty Celsius for some reason (you immediately noticed the heat, but of course you didn't ask her about it, because her judgment is always superior), _then_ watched as she carefully set up some weird objects--a candle, a black curtain to replace the current red one on the stage, and the shattered remains of the monitor the others have been using to communicate between here and the hospital--and kind of stood around doing nothing and periodically saying whatever comes to your mind.

Of course, you don't really think too deeply about anything, so nothing really comes to your mind very often, and you haven't been speaking very much.

Of course, there was the aformentioned incident with Saionji. You think back on that again and giggle despite yourself. It's a really funny event looking back on it, because you were so worried for a moment that the classical dancer was dead, which of course _isn't_ funny, but now you realize Tsumiki and Saionji were just probably playing around. When Saionji screamed at you to help her--a brief scream that abruptly trailed off into a short choking noise as soon as Tsumiki drew her hand across the dancer's throat--that was...

Yeah, that was probably just a game they were playing?

That makes sense. It worries you a little that you don't know that for sure, and for the briefest moment you feel panicked because okay, no, that doesn't make sense at all...

"Hey Mikan-chan," you blurt out, because you know you can trust Tsumiki about this (because Tsumiki makes you feel calm and safe and she's ~~perfect perfect~~ perfect), "when you grabbed Hiyoko-chan--you know, before she went to sleep?--were you just playing around or something? Sir?" you tack on at the end, realizing you should probably be a little more respectful.

"Sure," Tsumiki answers, not appearing to direct any real measure of attention toward you, "we were just playing around." Turning to look at you now, she adds, "You see, Saionji-san was being silly, and so I was being silly too."

"Understood, Mikan-chan!" you acknowledge. See, _that_ makes sense. That relaxes you, because now you've had it explained to you what was going on, and you don't have to worry or think too hard about it yourself. It's hard to explain why that feels so wonderful... It's like it frees up your mind completely, and that means you don't have any reason to feel stress. "And thank you kindly for your explanation!"

Tsumiki finishes setting up the stepladder and admires her work. She nods to herself, and you can't help noticing how such a subtle motion still looks so vivid when she does it: her hair bobs slightly, and for an instant the stage lights fall on her face in such a stunning way that you think she must be an angel.

She is so beautiful, you can hardly stand it.

"May I make a request, Mikan-chan?" you ask, saluting again.

"What," Tsumiki deadpans in reply, throwing a quick glance toward Saionji.

"Since we're at the music club anyway, would it be alright if I sing you a song or two, Mikan-chan?" you inquire. "It would be like a private performance just for you!"

She looks less than enthused, and you already regret asking. She's probably too busy to listen to you sing, especially with all this stuff she's set up around the club. However, after a moment her face takes on a much less annoyed (?) expression and softens to a lovely, flushing grin. "Of course you can sing me a song, Mioda-san!" she cheers, curling her fingers a little toward her palm and holding her hands close to her face in that precious way she does when she's a little nervous or embarrassed. God, she is so lovely.

You surprise yourself by thinking that you wouldn't say no to kissing her.

So you don't.

Say no, that is.

Before you even think about it, you cup your hands on her cheeks (not too difficult because she's only got a half inch on you) and press your lips against hers. She doesn't really react. Like, at all. Her arms just kind of hang at her sides, and she certainly doesn't seem interested in what you're doing--but she doesn't pull away, either.

When _you_ pull away, she's still grinning, and you wonder if that's a good sign. Should you not have done that? It wasn't really very professional, but it felt so perfect. You take your hands off her and take a step back. "I hope I wasn't acting inappropriately in doing that, Mikan-chan," you note, and you feel your own cheeks flush slightly.

"Not at all, Mioda-san!" Tsumiki assures you. "Nobody's ever shown me that sort of kindness before!"

She usually stutters. She hasn't stuttered at all this entire night. You figure you shouldn't be bothered by that.

She takes a rope--yet another one of the myriad objects she brought to the club--and inspects it briefly. "Well, Mioda-san?" she goes on, looking back up at you with a faint smile. "Weren't you going to sing? I do love your voice...!"

"Yessir!" you affirm, saluting again. "I will sing my best for you! I hope I won't disappoint you!"

You hop onto the stage and position yourself near the center. You can't actually be directly _in_ the center, because Tsumiki's stepladder is there and you know you probably shouldn't move it.

Tsumiki looks troubled for a moment and stares at a part of the stage floor. You follow her gaze and notice something that makes your stomach lurch: a small (probably no larger than a CD) pool of blood. "Mikan-chan?" you prompt, somewhat worried but knowing you can count on her to calm you down.

"Don't worry, it's strawberry jam," she explains hastily. You really feel like she's not sure about that, and that upsets you a little, but you shake off the feeling. It feels a lot more pleasant to just accept what she says.

"So, Mikan-chan, what would you like me to sing?" you ask.

She looks down at the rope again, then back up to you, and joins you on the stage. "You know what, why don't we make a little game out of it?" she suggests.

"That would be most enjoyable! I like games very much!" you tell her.

"Perfect," she purrs, and suddenly she's behind you and you can feel her soft hands on your neck and goodness that's a nice feeling. "So we'll do it like this," she continues, and then you feel the rough threaded texture of the rope wrap loosely around your neck.

You really don't like that sensation. It feels--understandably--constricting, and you kind of want to get out of it, but you probably shouldn't fidget because that would make Tsumiki think you're doubting her. "Don't worry, it's part of the game," she coos softly, right into your ear, and you virtually feel yourself melting. God, of all the beautiful things about her, you think her voice is your favorite: usually very soft and a little nervous, but then when she's cheerful, it sounds like a ray of sunshine coming out of her vocal cords. And always, no matter what her mood, it sounds so smooth it could be made of silk, and it always gives you shivers _anyway_ but when she leans in close to you like that, and speaks all low and soothing, you can barely breathe.

"So, with this game," she goes on, "what we do, is first I'll pull, okay? And remember, it's all part of the game, I'm not going to hurt you."

You nod. That makes sense. Tsumiki wouldn't hurt you.

"So I'll pull, and then when I do, you sing, okay? Sing me the sweetest song you can think of," she concludes.

You nod. That sounds fun. You love to sing, and you especially love the idea of singing for her.

You wait patiently, obediently, loyally, for her to do her part, knowing that when she does you're going to give her a performance like she's never heard.

She's so beautiful. You feel so calm. It's such a wonderful feeling.

 _Yaaay,_ you think to yourself. Why the three  a's? You feel the situation calls for them. That's just how you feel right now; after all, not only are you getting to sing for your favorite girl, you also just got the chance to kiss her, and that's actually really lovely? So, "yaaay" kind of makes sense here.

 _One song?_ you recite to yourself with an internal giggle. That what you always say to people when you want to sing for them. Your next thoughts sour halfway through, because all of a sudden you feel a suffocating, choking, what's-going-on-I-can't-breathe sensation in your neck.

You want to sing but you can't you can't sing you can't--

_Listen, plllllleassse_


	6. Those Ants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is going to save you, not at half after fucking midnight.

You didn't think she had it in her.

That's the first thing you think when she sees you. The two of you lock eyes for who knows how long, and you can see that there is something very, _very_ wrong with her expression. That may be Tsumiki's face--her obnoxious, loserly, pale face--but you can immediately tell there is _nothing_ about the way her features are twisted that suggests she is Tsumiki in any sense other than corporeal.

That writhing hate in her eyes, that searing snarl on her lips, that flare of her nostrils and the infuriated/miserable flush in her cheeks--all of it is _wrong._ This isn't Tsumiki, there's no way. The Tsumiki you know, that softspoken, self-effacing nervous wreck, is supposed to be a _victim._ Any not just any victim, _your_ victim. The two of you have a system--you toy with her because she's so easy to torture, and she sits there and takes it because she has no measurable spine.

That's how things are supposed to be with you and Tsumiki, and that's how you like it. It gives you a constant on this island where everything changes all the time, this hellhole with this "mutual killing" bullshit where you can never predict what's going to happen. Victimizing Tsumiki is _comfortable_ for you, no matter how cruel that might sound. For you, Tsumiki's ridiculous existence is a life jacket in a torrid ocean, trying to throw you every which way.

But looking at the Super High-school Level Nurse now, realization seeps in over a very short period that everything you know about her means nothing anymore. That face, that desperately wrathful expression she's got on, is not the face of a victim. No, far from it.

You would know: that's the kind of face _you_ like to wear when you really want someone to hurt. You almost have it trademarked--those wide-open eyes with the slightly open frown and the generally dark-looking facial features. Souda has joked a few times that the Japanese military could use you as a torture device and just have you glare at people. That actually almost impresses you to think about.

But now you're seeing that kind of ruthlessly loathesome glare on _her_ face, and suddenly _you_ feel like the victim. You don't particularly enjoy that feeling.

"Hiyoko-chan!" calls a loud, stiff-sounding voice. You shift your gaze briefly to see Mioda standing a little ways away, perfectly still and saluting you to accompany her greeting. She looks horribly gaunt, and you seriously doubt if she's eaten in days. Her skin and eyes look weirdly faded, and her hair doesn't look like it's been brushed since the early 1900s. It's actually really nauseating to see what's become of the Super High-school Level Light Music Club Member, the formerly always energetic and spunky guitarist who's been transformed by the Despair Fever into this mindlessly obedient/gullible lump. "Hi, Hiyoko-chan!" she goes on, sounding for all the world like there's nothing wrong with this situation, like there's nothing the matter with the fact that Tsumiki looks like a fucking _predator_ right now.

It must be the fever, you realize in a terrifying epiphany. The nurse must have caught it from one of the three who originally contracted it--you make a silent vow to annhiliate Owari, Komaeda, and Mioda, one of whom obviously gave it to her--and this new personality must be how it manifests in Tsumiki. Apparently, to use Monobear's terminology, whereas Owari got the "crybaby fever," Komaeda got the "lying fever," and Mioda got the "humorless fever," it seems Tsumiki has been blessed with the "ruthless stone-cold bitch fever." You would almost be proud of her if you weren't so frightened of the glare she's got pointed at you.

Oh, but it would be silly, as well as a fantastic insult to your observational skills and your intelligence, to say that Tsumiki's _glare_ is the most frightening thing about the scene before you. Sure, the look she's giving you is making you feel very helpless and small (and you will not tolerate any jokes about your height, so don't even try it), and sure, the fact that Mioda is so cavalier about this situation is creepy (no creepier than she's always been since getting the fever, but still), but neither of those things is in any way the most worrying part of what you're seeing in the music club.

No, the most worrying part is all the miscellaneous _stuff_ that seems to be haphazardly scattered around the room. The monitor you and the rest of the motel crew were using to communicate with the hospital (an ever-enterprising Souda came up with the idea because he's a lousy kiss-up and requires constant validation) lies smashed to pieces in the middle of the floor; there's an unlit candle at the front of the stage, very much _not_ looking like it's supposed to be there; and, in place of the usual elegant red curtain, there's a not-quite-wide-enough plain black one on the stage. Out of the corner of your eye, you also spy a folded-up stepladder, garish in color, and a thick rope pooled in a messy heap next to the ladder. It all looks really _blatantly_ suspicious, and that's what worries you.

What are Tsumiki and Mioda doing with a stepladder and a rope? There are certainly a good number of things you can accomplish with that combination of items, but with everything else in the room seeming so wrong, only one of them rises to the forefront of your mind: _suicide._ You know, suicide? Where you hang yourself apparently? Who the hell's committing suicide? On any other day, if she weren't acting so threatening and disturbingly _strong,_ you would say Tsumiki without hesitation; she always struck you as a girl who would eventually go all "goodbye cruel world" on the rest of you, which would be sad, sure, but it always seemed to you like something that would be _usual_ for Tsumiki.

Similarly, on any other day, if she weren't a hilariously suggestible zombie, you would never even _think_ of Mioda offing herself. You would claim she could fly before you would claim she might commit suicide--if her mind were her own at the moment.

But Tsumiki _is_ acting threatening, and Mioda _is_ a zombie, so things are different now.

It all comes to you in a sudden flash, like the answer to a difficult math question. The unusual items strewn around the music club; the stepladder and rope that can only have one purpose; fever-infected Tsumiki with the obviously aggressive attitude; and, of course, stupid gullible Mioda, Mioda who will do _anything_ anyone tells her to--it all comes to you, and suddenly your entire body feels frozen in this one spot and you can barely breathe.

Tsumiki looks like she wants you to say something, or do something. Her expression is challenging, almost daring you to react. Go on, Saionji, make my day.

You shouldn't make her day. You realize this clearly, that if you say or do anything at all accusatory you'll be fucked totally. You've just walked in on a forced suicide, and the best thing for you to do here is back away slowly and raise both your hands submissively and very quietly promise Tsumiki you'll never tell another soul before running like the fucking wind out of the club. You are, after all, much more athletic than Tsumiki (dancer beats nurse, it's just common sense), so even if she gave chase, you could evade her.

You realize all of this, but you also have no self-control whatsoever, and before you can even attempt to stop yourself, you're blurting out, "What the hell are you _doing??_ "

Great. _Now_ you're fucked.

You'd just like to state for the record that it was a reasonable question. No matter what's going to happen to you now as a result of you asking that question, it was a sensible thing to ask in this situation. Even though you've pretty much figured out for yourself what's going on here, it would only be fair to offer Tsumiki a chance to explain herself, just in case your conclusion is wrong. For all you know, it's just some game Tsumiki and Mioda are playing, no matter how unlikely it may seem.

It was a reasonable question. But that doesn't change the fact that Tsumiki looks almost glad that you asked it. She's probably giddy now that you went and ran your mouth, gave her an excuse to...

An excuse to _what,_ you can't help but wonder, and try as you like you still can't move your body. You're petrified by shock and horror and you want to run away but you can't.

You know what she's going to do, and unless you can force yourself to high-tail it the fuck out of this God-forsaken club (you mean for God's actual sake who names a club "Titty Typhoon") in the next two seconds, you're rather certain you're about to die.

Isn't it ironic, you think grimly. That Tsumiki would end up killing you. Funny, you always thought that if--and you say, _if_ \--you were ever to murder someone on this piece of shit island, it would be her. She's everything you hate in a person: weak, cowardly, and a klutz, not to mention taller than you (of course, most people are taller than you--connect the dots). So you always assumed that if you were to get desperate enough to kill someone, it would be Tsumiki, no contest. How ironic, then, that she should be the death of you.

The word pops into your mind before you can stop it: _karma._ You try to shoo it away, but it remains, red and searing. You've bullied Tsumiki nonstop since you arrived here, and now, sure enough, you're about to get yours. Only, the thing is, it's not even a matter of you bullied Tsumiki so she's going to kill you. It's just that you interrupted her horrifying murder-by-suicide plot.

You'd almost _prefer_ for her to kill you as payback. Because, you see, then there would be a reason for it. At least, in the moment of your death, you would know that she was getting revenge and that revenge was the conrete reason for what she'd done. There's no concrete reason here; this could happen to anybody.

You add Sonia to your list of people you silently vow to annhialate. After all, the Super High-school Level Princess was the one who suggested you use the music club mirror to fix your obi (which, you suddenly remember, is still tied in the front and very stupid-looking, and for a brief vain moment you sort of wish you didn't have to die while looking so stupid), so really this is Sonia's fault. And if Tsumiki weren't currently reaching into her pocket and retrieving a pair of medical scissors (oh good God what is she going to do to you with those), you would be making a mental note to berate the princess about it later.

You finally summon the strength to move your legs, but it's years past too late. In the time it takes you to pivot on one foot and start to reach for the music club door, Tsumiki halfway closes the distance between you. In the time it takes you to grab the door handle and start to push it open, her hand is your shoulder, and almost in slow-motion you experience being spun around and roughly yanked against the nurse's chest.

You let out a scream, pleading with every last fiber in your being that somehow, someone, _anyone_ might hear you outside and come in to save you or something.

That's silly. No one is going to save you, not at half after fucking midnight. But you scream anyway because it's all you have left.

You struggle violently, with Tsumiki trying her best to restrain you, and you're more ecstatic than words can say to find out that yes, you actually are stronger than she. Being a good deal shorter than her as well, you're able to rear your head upward and headbutt the bottom of her chin (who the hell says short people aren't important? dumbasses, that's who). She yelps in pain, and for a brief moment she loses her grip on the scissors.

"You bitch," she whispers harshly, and before you can even take the time to be amazed that Tsumiki of all people would use that kind of language, you register a surging pain in the side of your head and quickly come to the understanding that Tsumiki's got a much tougher left hook than you give her credit for.

You are released from her grip and almost instantly resecured in it, and you see in your peripheral vision that she has the scissors again. You have no idea how Tsumiki can move so quickly, but you have no time to contemplate that because now she's opening the scissors and baring one of the blades against your neck.

Sure, you might continue to resist, but be honest, would that actually do you any good at this point? You fought the good fight, you got a pretty good shot in--but this was hardly ever going to end well for you. You hesitated instead of running, and you're pretty positive that was your downfall from the very start.

But really, you know why you hesitated. And it's not because you think you deserve it, it's not because you didn't know what she was going to do, nothing like that.

You just didn't think she had it in her.

Plain and simple. In an unbelievable turn of events, you _underestimated_ Mikan Tsumiki. You couldn't help thinking this entire time that no, she would never really go through with it. She would never really make Mioda commit suicide, and she would never really kill you, no matter how much the Despair Fever might make her ready to do just that.

But you were wrong, and now you die.

You let out one last desperate shriek. "MIODA HELP ME--" you begin, probably intending to add several more "HELP ME"s after that, but your words dissolve into a hideous choking as Tsumiki, with a bit of a flourish, draws her hand across your neck.

How should you describe it? It's kind of like when you get a paper cut, but then you also get run over by a truck seconds later. ...Yeah, that's a pretty good description.

A funny thing occurs to you. You've been thinking about this as a situation where you're dying, but now that you think about it, this is _also_ a situation where Tsumiki is committing a _murder._ That means there's going to be a class trial for your murder, doesn't it? Jesus, that's terrifying to think about. You really hope the others figure out this torrid bitch for who she really is and unmask her as your killer, because otherwise you swear to Christ you will come back and haunt Tsumiki for the rest of her natural life.

But seriously, who's going to figure out it was Tsumiki? Are you seriously supposed to rely on the rest of your classmates to deduce what happened? _Those ants?_ you wonder doubtfully. To make your point, you internally laugh ironically, trying to sound clever, but maybe because of the shrieking agony in your neck, in your mind it comes out sounding ridiculous, something along the lines of _Fwaaueh._

Although, when you think about it, they _did_ do well at the first two trials, for Togami and Koizumi. They even helped exonerate you when that piece of shit Pekoyama tried to frame you for Koizumi's death. Of course, some of them have done more of the real detective work than others, like...

Like...??

You can't think of anyone anymore--the world is blacking out too quickly, and you're starting to feel weirdly cold even though you're pretty sure the heat is turned up to fucking Hellfire. You can't even breathe anymore, and it's barely been a full second now since Tsumiki slashed at you but your mind is already blanking on who the hell your classmates are. You try to come with somebody--who's the guy with the thing on his hair...? _Big brother..._ you begin, but you can't come up with his name, and a sudden falling sensation informs you that...whoever the hell it is that just killed you has released you from her grip again.

No, fuck this. You are not going to die having forgotten the names of everyone you care about (care about? what? well, that's new). You insist on remembering at least one person, _any_ person...

There's really only one person you need to think of. You wonder how soon it'll be before you can meet her again. Your thoughts are choppy but you don't mind anymore--

_Bigs is Koi zumi_


	7. Forgive Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despair is an act of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I received a lovely comment on this long-abandoned work, I've decided I may well actually finish it in the year of our lord 2017! Big stuff.

It's not like you're even surprised.

Really, you knew this was coming from the minute the trial started. Sure, you tried your best to hide it, put every smidgen of effort you had into directing attention away from yourself so nobody would even think about poor sweet little Mikan Tsumiki being a good old-fashioned _murderess._ Yeah. Yeah, by God you gave it everything you had--going as far as to turn up the heat in the music club to give yourself an excuse not to be able to figure out the times of death, and trying to let everybody forget about Monobear's two-for-one deal with the tote bags--but despite it all, despite everything you worked for, you knew it was coming.

With someone as unbelievably intelligent and talented as Kamu--oh, ha ha! But he _isn't_  that person, is he? Not anymore!

No, with someone as cunning and perceptive as _Hinata,_ you never had a chance. Like, seriously, just _try_ to look at Hinata's face and not think "curiously intelligent is written all over him." It would be a challenge.

You knew that from the very start, from the very first day you met him, even back when you were still just a lovable dorko with a self-respect problem and awful hair. (Well, you still have awful hair, but things have changed in your life otherwise.) You _knew_ that the Super High-school Level Questionmark-Questionmark-Questionmark wasn't somebody that _anybody_ wanted to try to deceive, because he just had that weird quality in him. That weird quality of being able to discover a situation for what it really was, no matter how convoluted.

It struck you that first day that you met him, and at the time it seemed to you like a special trait, like something to be revered and admired. Back when you gave half of a shit about him or anyone else here. More recently, his cleverness struck you again, only this time as an annoying fact about the world that you knew you couldn’t avoid or defeat.

And it's no different now, now that you went and...how can you put it delicately? Fucked Mioda and Saionji right the hell up. Oh, those poor idiots. You bet that if there's a heaven--and if Saionji didn't have to go the other way instead, which wouldn't surprise you--they're probably staring down on you and laughing their asses off at your incompetence.

Except maybe they're not actually laughing. Maybe you think they’re laughing only because you’re laughing. You’re the one who’s _only_ laughing. Maybe _they're_ just looking down at you all disappointed-like, knowing you’re getting what you deserved.

Sure, you deserve this. You deserve for this thing to be happening to you, this thing where Hinata goes hard as hell with accusing you and everyone else cheers him on because none of them will fucking forgive you and why won't they forgive you?? Why can't they just _do_ that??

A shiver passes through your body when you remember that it's okay if they don't forgive you because _she_ forgives you. The girl of your dreams, the most loveliest girl who ever lived and died. The girl who was always _yours_ and _only yours,_ who was always there when you needed her and never asked for anything in return. She always forgave you, from the day you met her until the day she died, and she _only_ ever forgave you. Even when you knew you were unforgivable by the nature of your deeds or your emotions or your general existence…

Forgiving you was all she did.

When you shut down your brain and try not to think about her too hard, you can convince yourself that it _wasn’t_ the only thing she did for you, and that another thing she did for you was love you. You know that it’s not true, but it’s horrifically nice to think about.

But you deserve this. Out of anyone, you deserve this—which is not to say that you’re the only person in this courtroom who _deserves_ this, and which is not to say that you’re the only person in this group who will eventually come to _deserve_ this. There isn’t a question in your mind that yours will not be the last life to end before this killing game is through, and that’s another thing that makes you shiver in delight, in agony…

In despair, you shiver. In despair, you laugh.

You much prefer, to the answer Pekoyama offered when asked what the time she spent with the rest of you meant to her, the one you gave in response to the same question. Pekoyama said “nothing,” but that’s a lie because it literally was not nothing. “History” is a much cleverer and more quirky answer, and one that’s sure to capture the others’ attention long after you’re gone. Sure to make them think about you, and just think—you didn’t even have to let them draw on you! In no time at all, you became, for the first time since you can remember being alive, the most important person in a room, and you didn’t even have to debase yourself.

You weren’t the most important person in a room when you shared it with her. She was the most and in fact _only_ important thing in any room, and you’re aware of that and you still love her. The beautiful thing about loving her was that you didn’t have to feel important, you didn’t have to feel valued or understood or even acknowledged. You only had to feel forgiven, and when you were with her you always did.

You relish in leaving them confused and unsatisfied. To their question about who the traitor is, you answer truthfully but meaninglessly. It’s funny that they don’t know how much it really _doesn’t_ matter if they know or not. To their concerns about what your resurrection means for them, you muse as vaguely and mysteriously as possible about memories and purposely leave out the shit they actually want to hear. And why should you tell them anything? They already betrayed you by refusing to forgive you, so they’re just getting theirs.

Because of them, you’re in hell, but because of her, it’s an especially lovely sort of hell that you would gladly drown in. You won’t breathe if it means you can see her. You tell it to her before you finally leave: “Please forgive me, the one who’s going to die with the hope of finally seeing you!” you cry, and it’s not because you meant to that you have the last word, but because none of the other demons inhabiting the room with you have anything else to say.

Monobear announces your execution in the usual style. You have no love for Monobear, except that he represents the creative impetus of your beloved, perfect, _everything_ girl. But he would only matter to you if he were being piloted by the _real_ her. This one is a fake, an artificial version of her, and it’s difficult to love a girl who isn’t real. You’d much rather die and have even the barest chance of reuniting with her in person.

You pay little mind to the period of time that must elapse between when Monobear strikes the execute-y button and when you suddenly are lying on your back in a hospital bed; keeping up with such trivial details is boring when you could be spending that effort thinking about her.

Your favorite feature about her was her eyes. So wide open all the time, seeing everything, _knowing_ everything. Sometimes she used to look at you with those eyes, and in that moment you knew that she knew every single thing about you.

You stare blankly at the ceiling with your own dull, weirdly-shaped eyes, having no serious opinion about the progression of your execution so far. The location is appropriately appropriate; it’s nothing you wouldn’t have expected, but it wouldn’t interest you in the slightest even if you were slated to die in the middle of a circus. You just want to get this over with, so patiently are you waiting for your existence to cease so you can finally get off this bitch of an Earth, leave the world that belongs to the people who never fucking forgave you.

Monobear appears out of nowhere and introduces a change of pace in the form of a large syringe. It’s _very_ big, _too_ big, and it reminds you acutely of your fear of…big things. You try to ignore the source of your discontent, while at the same time wondering if embracing your fright would be more conducive to causing despair, and it’s funny how you argue with yourself about this when you know that nothing in the _world_ could matter less.

The walls of your hospital room break down and hit the sand outside, which feels stupid because Monomi already did that gag back when you all first arrived here and back when she was still Usami. It’s not original anymore, guys. Don’t be dicks.

Thinking about Monomi makes you laugh to yourself because it reminds you what a shitstain she is. It’s not funny, per se, but you can only laugh regardless.

A sudden jerk, and you’re being lifted into the air. The hospital bed tumbles away to places unknown and is replaced with something huge and red. You’re disoriented by a brief moment wherein you’re thrown upward, only to land back upon the huge red thing. The despair of death notwithstanding, you’re having some trouble enjoying these back-to-back sensations, and the confusion about what’s going on that accompanies them.

It’s disingenuous to say you’re forced to contemplate your situation for very long, though—and even more so to pretend you were planning on mentally documenting the method of your death. Regardless of how much or how little you care about _exactly_ what’s happening to interrupt your thoughts of your beloved, your accrued befuddlement is resolved less than a second after you leave the ground when you’re given a short opportunity to examine your surroundings again. The red thing you’ve landed on is about your height and half again, and it takes the shape of a long arm with a closed fist. There’s some kind of symbolism here that you wouldn’t even care enough to examine if you weren’t deep in the depths of the darkest despair. You’re probably not intellectual enough, either.

If you squint, though, you can pretend the hand at the end of the arm is her hand. You can’t see the fingernails of the hand, which would be the easiest to fantasize about, but you make do.

That was your second favorite feature of hers—her hands. Extremely soft, if you had the mystically good fortune for her to touch you, but with a single crook of a finger she could dig one of those long nails into your skin, cause you the most exquisite discomfort until she found that you’d felt enough of that bad, good mix of pain and adoration that she loved to make people feel.

It makes you laugh inside to think about feeling the touch of her hands again. You have no reason to laugh, but it’s something you may as well do because you have no reason to be doing anything. Committing yourself to simply sitting through the rest of this shitshow, you recognize that you actually are in a sitting position now; you’re propped up neatly on the arm statue with one leg over each side. You steady yourself with your hands, even though it wouldn’t matter to you in the slightest if you fell off this thing. You only fear losing your balance because it would certainly cause Monobear to extend the execution with some sort of ad libbing, and you’d prefer to die as soon as possible.

Speaking of whom, Monobear brandishes his big, large, monster syringe and aggressively sticks the needle in the side of the red arm. The syringe is full of a green liquid that doesn’t strike you as being useful for any medical procedure. Monobear pumps the plunger with a speed that really bugs you for some reason (professionally, you think, it just annoys you to see medical equipment handled so carelessly), but you have almost no time to be pissed off because a uniquely different feeling suddenly swarms your body.

It’s highly unwelcome but physiologically impossible to resist, and it comes out of legitimately nowhere but the moment it starts you abandon any attempt to reason out why it’s there. Arousal, to put it neatly, takes over your brain and makes it hard to focus on anything else.

There’s no train of thought involved in your decision to think about her. Your mind skips all the steps from being turned on against your will to imagining her, and only her, and everything about her, forever, and what if she _did_ love you, and why _can’t_ she love you, and what would you have to do for her to love you and only you and everything about you, forever. It’s tantalizing and it’s torture to know that she doesn’t and didn’t really love you, because she was too busy forgiving you to have any time left to spare loving you, and you would have asked for her love but then what if she stopped _forgiving_ you, that’s a horrifying thought—what if she didn’t forgive you for anything anymore and you went back to having no one, and it would be _your fault_ and what an atrociously negative thing that is to feel so thrilling to you.

The fist at the end of the red arm bursts open into an outstretched palm, which feels blatantly representative of your current state, and it both disgusts and titillates you (where, to be frank, both those things are basically the same in your world) to know that the other eight are watching this. They’re watching you being made to enjoy this, even though they know and you know that you’ll be dead before too long. You wonder if any of them have forgiven you yet, but really you know that none of them have and none of them probably ever will, and _that’s_ as arousing to you as anything you’ve thought about up to this point.

A fire starts behind you, and you realize the arm functions somewhat like a rocket. Propelled by the thrusters (ha, thrusters) on the back end of the rocket, the arm springs to life and blasts off into the sky.

The syringe is empty, and it’s still attached to the rocket’s side—and so is Monobear still attached to the syringe. As the green liquid already begins to wear off, you get a kick out of seeing the bear flapping uselessly in the wind. The same wind rushes at your face, and you close your eyes tightly to avoid it stinging them. As you quickly gain altitude, the sky becomes chilly, and oxygen becomes scarce.

From the cold, you shiver. From the cold, you laugh.

Despair is an act of love. You know this. Despair is taking the things that you love and ruining them, trashing them, learning why you should hate them but still knowing you can’t.

That’s what you feel for her—and it might be what she felt for you, but it’s so hard to know and it’s so hard to care because you know that she forgave you. When you let yourself agonize over whether she really loved you, it means you’re not remembering the confirmed, 100% true fact that she always forgave you, and that’s something you never want to forget.

She always, always, _always_ forgave you, and you need that rock to steady yourself against the sordid confusion and fear and horror that’s made up the major part of your life so far.

Despair is an act of love, and maybe that’s why you were in despair when you killed Mioda and Saionji. Maybe it’s why you were in despair when Hinata accused you, when Owari was the last to abandon your side, when Komaeda was the one to tell you to your face that he wouldn’t forgive you.

The rear half of the rocket detaches from the front half, leaving Monobear and the syringe to descend back down to earth. But you’re still shooting on upward, flying at top speed to some kind of despairing heaven where you’ll finally see her face again, where she’ll finally tell you she forgives you and maybe she loves you too maybe please god she can tell you she loves you, even if she’s lying, just to hear her _say it—_

You escape the atmosphere, and it’s an alarming thing not to be able to breathe. It’s nothing like you’d expect, either: as a child you would simulate an unbreathable environment by holding a blanket closely over your head, and it made it _difficult_ to take in any air, but if you tried hard enough, it was still possible. Here, it’s _not possible._ You try to draw in a breath, and simply nothing happens. It’s uncomfortable soon before it’s excruciating, and it’s excruciating soon before you understand that you’re already losing consciousness.

Death can’t reach you fast enough, and it’s the last few seconds that feel like the longest. You’ve been kept from your beloved for so long, and yet you’re so close to being one with her again, and you can wait just a little longer, you have to stick it out for just a few more seconds until you suffocate, and god it’s so exciting and you can’t help but laugh.

 _Haha haha!_ Your laugh is internal because you can’t make any sound in space, of course. And it goes on, and as you die, you can only laugh. _Hahahahaha_ _forgivemeIloveyouforgivemelovemeforgivemefofofo_

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, please tell me if there are any more tags I should add! It really helps me out. And thanks for reading!


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